"Morning Calm at Stillwater Gleam" (Image & Text Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
The old ghost town of Pine Hollow sat deep in the Northwoods, several miles beyond the last maintained road. Once, long ago, it had been a logging camp. A sawmill stood there beside a small creek, and a handful of rough homes and a saloon served the men who felled the towering white pines.
But that had been nearly a century ago.
Now Pine Hollow was only a scattering of leaning buildings slowly surrendering to moss, wind, and time. The forest had been reclaiming it patiently for decades.
It was exactly the sort of place that fascinated a man named Daniel Hart, a podcaster who hosted a popular series called Whispers of the Forgotten. His show explored abandoned places and the legends that clung to them.
When Daniel announced that his next series would focus on Pine Hollow—“the most haunted ghost town in northern Wisconsin”—his listeners were thrilled.
The first two episodes were captivating.
In Episode One, Daniel described the road into the forest, his boots crunching over frost, the tall pines whispering above him.
In Episode Two, he explored the buildings—the ruined bunkhouse, the sagging saloon, the skeletal remains of the sawmill.
Then came Episode Three.
It was…different.
Listeners noticed it immediately.
Daniel’s voice was quieter. Uneasy.
“I’m standing near the old well,” he said in the recording, the wind brushing softly through the microphone. “Locals say the town was abandoned after a terrible winter. People vanished. Some said the forest took them.”
He laughed nervously.
“I’m sure that’s just a story.”
Then the recording ended abruptly.
There was never an Episode Four.
Two days later, Liam heard about the disappearance from Maren at the Bean & Birch.
“He came up here to do a podcast about Pine Hollow,” she said, pouring coffee. “Now nobody can find him.”
Liam frowned.
“People don’t just vanish in these woods.”
At his feet, Mabel, his sharp-eyed border collie, lifted her head.
Across the room Ethan looked up as well, Bear stretching lazily beside him while Isabel peeked from Ethan’s jacket pocket. On the windowsill, Ragnhilde the raven watched everything with bright intelligence.
It didn’t take long for them to agree.
They would go look.
The road to Pine Hollow was little more than a trail.
Tall pines crowded close on either side as Liam and Ethan walked, Mabel trotting ahead while Bear lumbered behind. Ragnhilde soared silently overhead, occasionally calling down to them.
When they finally reached the clearing, Pine Hollow appeared exactly as described in the podcast.
Weathered buildings leaned into the wind. The sawmill stood like a broken skeleton. A rusted well sat near the center of the clearing.
The place felt…
wrong.
Not dangerous.
Just…watchful.
Mabel stopped suddenly.
Her ears lifted.
She sniffed the ground, then began moving toward the well.
Liam followed.
Near the edge of the clearing, they found Daniel’s equipment bag. Inside were microphones, cables, and a small recorder.
Liam pressed play.
The recording crackled.
“This is Daniel Hart… third night in Pine Hollow.”
His voice sounded strained.
“I think… I think someone else is here.”
A pause.
“The buildings creak at night. I hear footsteps outside the saloon. But when I look—”
Wind rushed across the microphone.
Then a whisper.
Not Daniel’s voice.
Many voices.
Soft.
Distant.
Calling.
“Stay.”
The recording ended.
Liam and Ethan exchanged a glance.
Bear gave a low growl.
Ragnhilde landed on the roof of the saloon and tilted her head toward the trees.
The forest was very quiet.
Too quiet.
Then Mabel barked once.
Everyone turned.
Across the clearing, near the broken doorway of the saloon, a figure stood.
It looked like a man.
Faint. Pale. Almost transparent.
Another figure appeared beside it.
Then another.
Dozens of them.
They stood silently, watching.
For a moment Liam could swear one of them wore headphones around his neck.
A podcaster’s microphone hung faintly in his hand.
Daniel.
Bear stepped forward, hackles raised.
But the figures did nothing.
They simply watched.
Waiting.
A cold breeze moved through the clearing.
The ghostly figures slowly turned and drifted toward the saloon.
One by one they vanished through the doorway.
The clearing fell silent again.
No footsteps.
No sound.
Just the whisper of wind through the pines.
Liam exhaled slowly.
“Well,” he said quietly.
“I think we just learned what happened to Episode Four.”
Mabel pressed close to his leg.
And none of them stayed long enough to see if the door of the saloon might open again.
* * * * * * * * * *
The darkness presses gently against the windows this morning.
The clocks have changed, and though it is morning, it still feels like night. Outside, the Northwoods rests in deep shadow. The lake and forest are hidden in the quiet blackness that precedes dawn.
Morning light is still a long ways off.
For a moment that might feel a little sad.
But only for a moment.
Because inside the wee cottage the lamps glow softly. Warm light fills the room like a small hearth of its own. The scent of fresh coffee curls through the air, rich and welcoming.
A mug rests in my hands.
Breakfast will come soon.
Music floats through the room—Eva Cassidy’s hauntingly beautiful voice singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Her voice always seems to arrive like a gentle companion to the morning.
It reminds me that even in darkness there is beauty.
And perhaps that is the deeper truth of this hour.
The world outside is still hidden in shadow. Yet here, in this moment, nothing is lacking. Nothing is broken. Nothing needs fixing.
We often spend our lives trying to improve ourselves, polish ourselves, perfect ourselves—believing that somehow we are incomplete.
But perhaps we are not.
Jim Palmer expresses this beautifully:
“Enlightenment is simply realizing the indisputable Truth of who you are. You are fundamentally complete in every respect, and cannot be improved upon or diminished.”
What a remarkable thought.
Imagine understanding that there is nothing fundamentally wrong with you.
Nothing missing.
Nothing broken.
Nothing that needs repair in order for you to be worthy of peace.
The simple truth may be this: we are already whole.
This morning, before the dawn, that thought feels especially comforting.
The darkness outside the window is not something to fear or resist.
It is simply the moment before the light.
And so this day begins.
Softly.
Quietly.
Perfectly.
“You are already that which you seek.” ~Jim Palmer
~Wylddane
But that had been nearly a century ago.
Now Pine Hollow was only a scattering of leaning buildings slowly surrendering to moss, wind, and time. The forest had been reclaiming it patiently for decades.
It was exactly the sort of place that fascinated a man named Daniel Hart, a podcaster who hosted a popular series called Whispers of the Forgotten. His show explored abandoned places and the legends that clung to them.
When Daniel announced that his next series would focus on Pine Hollow—“the most haunted ghost town in northern Wisconsin”—his listeners were thrilled.
The first two episodes were captivating.
In Episode One, Daniel described the road into the forest, his boots crunching over frost, the tall pines whispering above him.
In Episode Two, he explored the buildings—the ruined bunkhouse, the sagging saloon, the skeletal remains of the sawmill.
Then came Episode Three.
It was…different.
Listeners noticed it immediately.
Daniel’s voice was quieter. Uneasy.
“I’m standing near the old well,” he said in the recording, the wind brushing softly through the microphone. “Locals say the town was abandoned after a terrible winter. People vanished. Some said the forest took them.”
He laughed nervously.
“I’m sure that’s just a story.”
Then the recording ended abruptly.
There was never an Episode Four.
Two days later, Liam heard about the disappearance from Maren at the Bean & Birch.
“He came up here to do a podcast about Pine Hollow,” she said, pouring coffee. “Now nobody can find him.”
Liam frowned.
“People don’t just vanish in these woods.”
At his feet, Mabel, his sharp-eyed border collie, lifted her head.
Across the room Ethan looked up as well, Bear stretching lazily beside him while Isabel peeked from Ethan’s jacket pocket. On the windowsill, Ragnhilde the raven watched everything with bright intelligence.
It didn’t take long for them to agree.
They would go look.
The road to Pine Hollow was little more than a trail.
Tall pines crowded close on either side as Liam and Ethan walked, Mabel trotting ahead while Bear lumbered behind. Ragnhilde soared silently overhead, occasionally calling down to them.
When they finally reached the clearing, Pine Hollow appeared exactly as described in the podcast.
Weathered buildings leaned into the wind. The sawmill stood like a broken skeleton. A rusted well sat near the center of the clearing.
The place felt…
wrong.
Not dangerous.
Just…watchful.
Mabel stopped suddenly.
Her ears lifted.
She sniffed the ground, then began moving toward the well.
Liam followed.
Near the edge of the clearing, they found Daniel’s equipment bag. Inside were microphones, cables, and a small recorder.
Liam pressed play.
The recording crackled.
“This is Daniel Hart… third night in Pine Hollow.”
His voice sounded strained.
“I think… I think someone else is here.”
A pause.
“The buildings creak at night. I hear footsteps outside the saloon. But when I look—”
Wind rushed across the microphone.
Then a whisper.
Not Daniel’s voice.
Many voices.
Soft.
Distant.
Calling.
“Stay.”
The recording ended.
Liam and Ethan exchanged a glance.
Bear gave a low growl.
Ragnhilde landed on the roof of the saloon and tilted her head toward the trees.
The forest was very quiet.
Too quiet.
Then Mabel barked once.
Everyone turned.
Across the clearing, near the broken doorway of the saloon, a figure stood.
It looked like a man.
Faint. Pale. Almost transparent.
Another figure appeared beside it.
Then another.
Dozens of them.
They stood silently, watching.
For a moment Liam could swear one of them wore headphones around his neck.
A podcaster’s microphone hung faintly in his hand.
Daniel.
Bear stepped forward, hackles raised.
But the figures did nothing.
They simply watched.
Waiting.
A cold breeze moved through the clearing.
The ghostly figures slowly turned and drifted toward the saloon.
One by one they vanished through the doorway.
The clearing fell silent again.
No footsteps.
No sound.
Just the whisper of wind through the pines.
Liam exhaled slowly.
“Well,” he said quietly.
“I think we just learned what happened to Episode Four.”
Mabel pressed close to his leg.
And none of them stayed long enough to see if the door of the saloon might open again.
* * * * * * * * * *
The darkness presses gently against the windows this morning.
The clocks have changed, and though it is morning, it still feels like night. Outside, the Northwoods rests in deep shadow. The lake and forest are hidden in the quiet blackness that precedes dawn.
Morning light is still a long ways off.
For a moment that might feel a little sad.
But only for a moment.
Because inside the wee cottage the lamps glow softly. Warm light fills the room like a small hearth of its own. The scent of fresh coffee curls through the air, rich and welcoming.
A mug rests in my hands.
Breakfast will come soon.
Music floats through the room—Eva Cassidy’s hauntingly beautiful voice singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Her voice always seems to arrive like a gentle companion to the morning.
It reminds me that even in darkness there is beauty.
And perhaps that is the deeper truth of this hour.
The world outside is still hidden in shadow. Yet here, in this moment, nothing is lacking. Nothing is broken. Nothing needs fixing.
We often spend our lives trying to improve ourselves, polish ourselves, perfect ourselves—believing that somehow we are incomplete.
But perhaps we are not.
Jim Palmer expresses this beautifully:
“Enlightenment is simply realizing the indisputable Truth of who you are. You are fundamentally complete in every respect, and cannot be improved upon or diminished.”
What a remarkable thought.
Imagine understanding that there is nothing fundamentally wrong with you.
Nothing missing.
Nothing broken.
Nothing that needs repair in order for you to be worthy of peace.
The simple truth may be this: we are already whole.
This morning, before the dawn, that thought feels especially comforting.
The darkness outside the window is not something to fear or resist.
It is simply the moment before the light.
And so this day begins.
Softly.
Quietly.
Perfectly.
“You are already that which you seek.” ~Jim Palmer
~Wylddane
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